


In His Arms Protection

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:18:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short snapshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In His Arms Protection

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my mom for the quick beta. 
> 
> This may be the first of a series of snapshots on a theme. Or it may not. That isn't a threat for feedback; while feedback is always desired and appreciated, it has little impact on the whims of my muse.

## In His Arms Protection

by CatMoran

Author's webpage: <http://www.catmoran.com/warning.htm>

Author's disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I don't own the canon characters or concept; I do own this story.

* * *

In His Arms: Protection  
By CatMoran : catmoran@catmoran.com 

I feel everything. Despite my leather jacket, I feel the gritty pavement beneath my back. The rain has stopped, but the wind brings droplets of water from a nearby awning. My head aches from striking a brick wall and then the pavement. A rib, broken while deflecting a bullet, sears me with each breath. And finally, blood pulses into my right lung, around another bullet that is embedded in that organ. 

I still hear gunfire nearby. 

I need to get up, I need to protect.... someone. Who? I know him, but my mind is surrounded in fog and I can't find the words. I brace my arms and push myself upright. A wave of red pain flows across my vision and hearing; I feel the bullet shift. As the wave dissipates, I am lying flat on the ground again. I feel a bit of air slipping past the bullet into my chest cavity. 

I try to take slow, steady breaths. After a measureless eternity, the blood pooling in my lung forces a cough reflex. A flash of white-hot pain radiates from my chest and I arch on the unforgiving asphalt. I gray out for a moment. When I come back to myself, I'm curled on my left side, spitting up blood, gasping for air. 

The gunfire has stopped. 

A face appears above me. I know him. Short, wild curls frame his face. His eyes are full of fear and pain. Is he hurt? I must protect him. I gasp as I try to gather the breath to lever myself upright. 

He speaks quickly, telling me that he's ok. That the suspects are down and an ambulance is on the way. Telling me to hold on. I can't find enough breath to reply, so I try to communicate my relief that he is safe with my eyes. It must work, some of the tightness in his face eases a bit. 

All this time, he's pulling off his jacket and tucking it under my head. Now he yanks off his shirt and presses it tightly against my chest. The pressure against the rib causes new waves of pain. Then he wraps his other arm around me, and his hand is stroking my back. I'm thankful that I can feel it so clearly, even through my leather jacket. 

He tells me to dial it down, to focus on the hand on my back. I drift on the feel of his arms around me. 

I hear the siren of an ambulance growing louder. 

The End  
(c) CatMoran 2000 


End file.
